


Photography | Waiting

by beyondcanon



Series: Photography [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, F/F, Future Fic, Sexual Content, Slut Shaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-19
Updated: 2014-05-19
Packaged: 2018-01-25 18:07:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1657607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyondcanon/pseuds/beyondcanon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quinn comes to Rachel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Photography | Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of my [prompt challenge](http://beyondcanon.tumblr.com/tagged/ma%27s-prompt-challenge) on Tumblr. Some stories will be posted on AO3; this is one of them.
> 
> By the structure of the challenge, each part of the Photography series is a standalone, complete installment. I might add more to it at anytime; I suggest you subscribe in case there's more to come. :)

She waits.

She knows she overstepped every single boundary, so she waits.

It turns out Bogotá is really lovely, and almost no one recognizes her.

\--

You can’t really focus, can you?

Your photos are technically perfect, but they lack the warmth and the drive that are associated with your work. You give up on the second day, because what’s the point? Amnesty International is much too satisfied with you to complain anyway.

You touch yourself at night.

You can still smell Rachel, listen to her panting so desperately by your ear, having her pressed against you.

\--

On the fourth day her phone rings.

Rachel’s voice is already shaking when you mumble a “let her in”, walking over to the mirror to check her clothes, her face, the bags under her eyes.

 _This is it_ , she thinks as she opens the door.

Quinn is standing there, white button up shirt and oxford shoes, heavy black bag on her shoulder, face devoid of expression. “What are you still doing here?”

She locks eyes with Quinn, trying to read her reaction. “I’m waiting for you.”

Quinn’s jaw tenses and she steps forward, dropping her purse on the table by the door with a loud thud. “Fuck you, Rachel,” she says, and the sole of her feet are pushing the door behind her, closing it with a dull click.

\--

You clash your body against her because she’s driving you crazy with mixed signals, looking at you like she wants something without ever telling you what she actually means, grabbing your shirt and pulling your closer and offering her neck to your open mouth.

You draw a whimper out of her as you take a long lick on the curve of her neck, and then another one after you suck the spot beneath her ear.

You want to make her feel something, _anything_ close to your desperation and your loneliness; your teeth pull and your tongue swirls and she holds on to you close.

“I told you to fuck off,” you say, pulling her up harshly, enjoying more than you should when those thighs lock around your waist and soft brown hair cascades over you.

Her nails make a way up your upper back, hurting and leaving a path of angry red marks for you to remember her. She claims your lips, grabbing your face and taking over your mouth, rubbing your tongues together, sucking on your lower lip and demanding entrance again.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” she says angrily, hips rolling against yours and the heel of her feet sinking in your ass to pull you closer.

She wins everything else, she got everything she ever wanted and you had to run and hide to make yourself whole again; you need to keep an upper hand on this, the only thing you can control.

You throw her on the bed.

\--

She’s always going to give Quinn everything she wants; she happily submits to the hot tongue on her neck and the insistent bites on her collarbone.

It’s only when Quinn throws her on the bed unceremoniously and climbs over her body, breath ragged and cheeks flushed, that she realizes how much she wants this:

Quinn hovering over her on all fours, licking her lips, running a hand up Rachel’s body like she owns it, the prelude of something—

Rachel grabs that soft golden hair and pulls Quinn down, groaning when Quinn collapses on top of her and kisses her very open-mouthed.

Her hands work furiously on that stupid dress shirt, buttoned all the way up for no good reason; the soft sigh she takes from Quinn when her hands palm a lean stomach is exactly what she needs.

Quinn’s biceps ripple and tense as she tears Rachel’s blouse apart and her mouth latches on to her breasts, and it shouldn’t be this arousing but Rachel is already getting _so_ wet.

It’s slower, this time, and she pushes Quinn’s shirt off her shoulder so she can scratch her back and palm her shoulders to keep her right _there_ , settled on top of her, grounding her to the world and making her feel something for the first time in so long.

“Fuck, babe—“ She gasps when Quinn bites her nipple, tongue swirling over it before another bite, “yes, just like that—”

They grind together on accident the first time and moan in unison, Quinn’s tongue still working on the other breast.

She’s covered in saliva and love bites and it’s the most glorious thing she’s ever felt in her life.

\--

Doesn’t she know how deep it sinks when she calls you _babe_?

Is she really this blind? You tug her shorts down harsher than necessary, trying not to stare at how her hair falls on the pillow and frames her face.

Your fingers delve in her folds, spreading the wetness; she throws her head back, throat straining in a low growl. “You’re such a slut.” You tease her entrance, enjoying how her hips raise for more. “Begging for a good fuck.”

“Please, Quinn, please,” she mumbles, “I need you so much, I—“

“Don’t say things you don’t actually mean.” You thrust three fingers in because you know she can take it, and fuck if her moan isn’t the best thing you’ve ever heard, if this isn’t the most alive you’ve ever felt.

She’s tugging your hair and it hurts, but you don’t give a shit as long as she’s moaning your name over and over again.

“Fucking take me, Quinn,” she moans right in your ear, biting your shoulder. “Take what you want.”

You choke a little, stopping your fingers inside her. “I want everything, Rachel,” you say as your thumb presses down on her clit, circling, “everything.”

Your arm is aching and your wrist isn’t in the best position, but you’re going to make her come as hard as she can.

“Fuck, Quinn, fuck—“ her hips jerk uncontrollably, the tips of her fingers pressing down on your back as she finally tops over and comes all over your hand.

\--

She can _feel_ herself throbbing against Quinn’s fingers.

God, she can’t even breathe right now. Quinn kisses her, slow and demanding, moving her hand slowly in and out; she whimpers helplessly with aftershocks and bites Quinn’s lower lip.

Her voice sounds abnormally raspy when she holds Quinn’s wrist and makes her pull out. “Babe, I can’t take any—“

“Don’t call me that,” Quinn says, rolling over to the side.

She can’t even get a fuckin nickname right, can she?

So much for pillow talk. She turns to her side and looks at Quinn. “I don’t know what to do to get it right.”

Quinn sighs. “Me neither.”


End file.
